


Relics of a bygone age

by sylvancat



Category: Leverage
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvancat/pseuds/sylvancat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is very wrong in Eliot's kitchen, and he doesn't care who he has to hurt to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relics of a bygone age

For ruric's prompt at fic promptly: Leverage, Eliot/Hardison, tureen  
http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/153686.html?view=7052886&posted=1#cmt7052886

 

Hardison was pretty sly about sneaking into the kitchen, but not sly enough. When he turns to reach for his laser, Eliot's blocking the door, arms crossed.

"You're not using that."

"Whaaat?" With just the tips of his fingers, Hardison nudges the laser away a little, grabs the handle of Parker's fancy soup bowl instead.

"Of course not, man, I promised, right? " The stormcloud on Eliot's brow gets a little darker as Hardison babbles on.

"I'm not doing .. Just getting the tweaker, turner, tumbler..soup thingy, you know, for the soup?" he finishes hopefully.

"You mean tureen, and no, you're not."

"Not what!"

"Not putting soup in that thing. Not in my kitchen."

"But Eliot, Parker ... you know, for the dinner, because it's supposed to be special." Hardison reaches for the bubbling soup pot, with hardly one longing glance at the abandoned laser.

Eliot rolls his eyes.  
"Yeah, she stole it for dinner. Real special. No."

Hardison can't do Parker's wounded eyes, but he tries. "Seriously?"

The hitter nods, implacable, looking about as serious as Hardison's ever seen him.

"Eliot, nobody's gonna know she stole it, and you don't have anything half as fancy around here.."

Eliot opens his mouth and closes it again.

"I don't care. Put the damn soup back on the stove, take your lazer and get that thing outta here."

Hardison ignores this impractical outburst because he's trying not to splash himself with hot soup pouring it into Parker's historical gilded and silver-chased soup tureen. He knows it's historical, because Sophie recognized it. He could tell by the smile she tried to hide.

"I. Said. No." Eliot's fist closes around his wrist.

"You're cold, man, gonna break the girl's heart when she's just trying to help." That usually works.

" How bout gonna break your fingers?"

Hardison stares, and Eliot glares, until Hardison lets Eliot guide his soup-carrying hand away from the tureen and back to the stove.

"I don't get it, man, somebody tries to give you something nice and you're just all hurtful. Literally," he grumbles as he rubs his sore wrist.  
Man has a grip.

"There's something wrong with you," Eliot growls, and Hardison gapes.

"Wrong with me! Parker brought you a valuable historical antique from a castle or someplace and you won't even let me put soup in it once, just to make her happy."

Nothing, just that raised eyebrow that tells him he's missing something. But he's not.

"How is this silver and gold tureen not good enough for you? Sophie was impressed, even, I saw her face!" He reaches for the soup again.

"Dammit, Hardison! Of course Sophie liked it because it's silver and gold and valuable as ffff..just because it came from a palace. But she laughed because it's not a damn soup tureen."

"Wah..? see this big rim, and the handle there, to pour.."

Eliot jerks it away from him, drops his disrespected laser in it with a clang, and shoves them both in Hardison's chest, rocking him back astep toward the door. "Now get out of my kitchen."

"You're really not going to use the antique silver soup tureen Parker stole for you special." He clutches it to his sore chest, for which Eliot isn't even sorry, but it's Parker's feelings he's defending now so Eliot totally deserves a guilt trip.

"It's not a.. antique soup tureen, Hardison! It's a 17th century silvergilt chamberpot."

"a..What?"

"You heard me. Get it out of here."

Hardison's cradling arm spasms and the...thing clatters to the kitchen floor.

"Hardison.." Eliot says warningly.

"No man, I am not touching that. That's just nasty. You...you put my laser in there. My molecular gastronomy laser. You're buying me a new one, because you know I can't use that one anymore.."

"OUT!"


End file.
